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by accio_broom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, IWSC | The International Wizarding Schools Championship Writing Challenge, Implied Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28983198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accio_broom/pseuds/accio_broom
Summary: IWSC: Hermione Granger is given an ultimatum after restoring her parent's memories. Will she be able to turn her back on magic?
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8
Collections: International Wizarding School Competition - Ilvermorny





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**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in my fic. I just like putting them in miserable situations.
> 
> This is another entry for the International Wizarding School Competition. Round 2. 
> 
> Theme: History  
> Main Prompt: "The version of me you created in your mind is not my responsibility."  
> Additional Prompt: Hurt/Comfort.
> 
> Enjoy!

_"The version of me you created in your mind is not my responsibility."_

Hermione lay awake, the words she had shouted at her parents earlier echoing around her head.

The hour was late. Sleep was far away, but Hermione's insomnia was something she had adjusted to since the war. She struggled to sleep with the sound of suburbia around her. She had slowly adjusted to the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain against the canvas, and the sound of Ron and Harry snoring softly. Back in the tent, she would have sold her wand to sleep in a _normal_ bed. Now that she had her wish, she wanted to be back in the tent with the boys.

She was cut off from the magical world and everyone she loved. Australia was strange. In a better life, she would have relished the thought of exploring a whole new country. But now she slept in an unfamiliar room, in a house she didn't recognise and lived with two people who were only slowly getting to know her (even though they should be the ones who knew her the best).

Hermione had never felt more alone.

Guiltily, she wondered if the Grangers would ever feel like family to her again. She had never been close to her parents, not in the way the Weasleys were — always touching, embracing, and knowing the tiny details of each other's lives — but Hermione had still loved her parents dearly. Truthfully, they had started to grow apart when she got on the train at Platform 9 ¾ as a shy, eleven-year-old. Magic had driven a wedge between them.

Still, Hermione had missed her parents awfully. She couldn't just write to them and let them know she was okay, and she couldn't spill the details of her latest fight with Ron over a foot of parchment. None of the catharsis came with a comforting letter back from her Mum, advising her on how to bridge the gap and make things better.

Now she felt just as cut off from Harry and Ron. It was an alien feeling, having lived in each other's pockets for almost a year. The lack of their consistent presence in her life drove a deep hole in her very being, and she felt the powerful tingle of magic fading from her fingertips. It didn't help that her parents had a strong dislike of her using magic in their house. The potential of what Hermione could do with it scared them. They knew she was a powerful witch, even with only half of the awareness of what she could do. Aside from the charms that had been slowly restoring their memories, Hermione had resorted to doing everything the Muggle way.

Soon, dawn came creeping through the window, filling the cold room with a low glow. Usually, the morning would make her happy — it brought with it a chance to make things right, start afresh, and join a new adventure.

Today, it heralded gloom.

Yesterday she experienced the biggest breakthrough with her parents and their memories. For days they had been living half-lives, caught somewhere between being Wilkins and Grangers, feeling unable to determine where the truth lay. But finally, Wendell and Monica had taken that final step to Hugo and Jean, and with the memories fully restored, Hermione got her parents back.

For the rest of the day, her parents had thrown endless questions at Hermione. They had always needed to know the truth and had searched for deeper knowledge in books and research whenever they weren't satisfied with the first presented answer. For a fleeting moment, Hermione had considered not giving them the full details of everything that happened — a trick she had learned early in her school years when she'd discovered just how perilous it was to be friends with Harry Potter. It was never a downright lie; she preferred to tell herself it was the truth cloaked with safe illusions. It was to protect them, after all. She would never have considered it if she thought they could find out the real truth.

When Hermione was small and didn't understand the power that lay at the tips of her fingers, she had invented a game with her parents: _real or fake_. She would ask them a series of questions based on what had happened to her during the day, and they would try their best to answer them whilst wrestling her into the bath or tucking her in at night,

_Today I moved my dinner plate without touching it. Real or fake?_

_Today the sprouts on my plate disappeared. Real or fake?_

With every question, Jean and Hugo had attempted to provide their most logical explanations, although, even at a young age, Hermione had been gifted with the same scepticism of their face value. The dinner plate was on a table with a wobbly leg. Her mother had replied whilst glancing nervously at her father. The sprouts had been eaten, surely Hermione remembered putting them in her mouth?

She wondered how much her parents had suspected then that she wasn't like them. To accept that something different was happening to their daughter was something beyond their levels of comprehension. The phenomena surrounding Hermione had been relegated to fairy tales and contributed to raising a curious daughter with an overactive imagination.

Hermione had been born late in Hugo and Jean's lives. They had chosen to focus on their careers whilst they were still young, building up a dental practice that was well respected in their communities. They were pillars of society; attending fundraisers, going to church every Sunday, trying to do the right thing. When they had finally decided to start trying for a child, they feared they had left it too late and worried they might not be able to conceive. Hermione was a surprise, a miracle baby when they'd all but given up.

From her conception they had plotted for Hermione to follow in their footsteps, go to medical school and join their practice. They ensured they had enough money for Hermione to attend a top university, instilled a belief that studying should always be her first priority. They even treated her like an adult when she was still a small child, taking her to parties she was too young to attend and encouraging her to debate with scholars and politicians. They had gone as far as investing in a bigger building so that she could have an office among theirs.

Her parents' put unbelievable pressure on her shoulders, which often closed in on Hermione, pushing her into a tight space. There was a constant need to make them happy. Hermione excelled in her academics but failed in the things that would have helped her be a child. She had no friends until she got to Hogwarts, and she could not understand the instant camaraderie Harry and Ron had formed.

You could imagine Hugo and Jean's despair when their perfect daughter, already acting twenty years older than her age, received her letter and a visit from Professor Dumbledore, explaining that she was a witch. With the news and Hermione's final confirmation that she was _different_ , but in a good way, at least to her, her parent's dreams and aspirations were circling the plughole.

As Hermione's parents' memories came flooding back, she decided to utilise their childhood game to fill them in with the details.

_You go to Hogwarts School in Scotland. Real or fake?_

_Your best friend's names are Harry and Ronald. Real or fake?_

_You were the one who performed the magic that wiped our memory._

It was the last statement that triggered the arguments. Hermione saw a side of her parents that rarely appeared. Their worst nightmare had finally come true. Their perfect daughter, destined to carry on the family business and become a pillar of society too, had used her magic against them.

_"The version of me you created in your mind is not my responsibility."_

Hermione had been defensive. She had to do it to protect them. It had broken her heart. She hadn't wanted to remove herself from their lives. She told them how she cried for days in Ron's room in the Burrow where she sought shelter. She explained how she didn't see anyone from the family until they left for their mission to remove Harry from Privet Drive aside from Ron. She told them about the arguments she'd had with Molly and Arthur when they had berated her for doing what she did.

As the intricate pattern of lies unravelled, the mood in the room darkened. This was not the happy reunion Hermione had expected.

Then the words came from her Mother, cutting her so deep it thrust her back to Malfoy Manor. The poisoned knife was once again being drawn against her neck, and the fresh scar throbbed painfully. It felt as if Bellatrix was standing over her once more.

_"We think you should stay here with us. Go to the University of Sydney. Train to be a dentist, just like we wanted when you were little. Leave the magical world behind. You're safe here."_

One glance at her father told Hermione that he agreed. Those oppressive walls had loomed over her, threatening to suffocate her. Her parents' ideas of who they wanted her to become too much, forcing her to scream out in frustration.

She briefly considered what it would be like to do as they asked, remove herself from the pressure and be what they wanted her to be. It would be the safe option — magic was inherently dangerous, and she had a myriad of scars to show this. She regularly experienced panic attacks and thought she definitely had PTSD, and the muggle world would help alleviate that.

But then her scar throbbed again, and she thought of Ron calling out her name and pleading for Bellatrix to take him and not her. She recalled Dobby, Fred, Lupin and Tonks and everyone else who gave their lives for them to be safe. She thought about all the good that she still planned to do to further improve the Wizarding World.

That was where home was now. The realisation tore through Hermione, piercing her soul and making every part of her ache as though she had just been hit with Cruciatus again. She would have to choose.

She turned her head, pressing it into her pillow as an anguished wail escaped her lips. She cried until no more tears could escape her eyes. She didn't want to choose, she shouldn't have to, and she hated her parents for even embedding the idea in her mind.

Once her tears dried up, and she was hoarse from crying, she sat up in bed. Her mind was clearer now. She checked the time—it was almost 5 am. It would be 11 pm back at home. The word slipped off her tongue and fell out of her mouth as a whisper. Home. The thought of making it back to the Burrow, just in time for Molly to start serving breakfast. The thought of Ron appearing at the bottom of the stairs and seeing her sitting at the long wooden table. Would he be surprised and happy to see her? She didn't even have to ask the question to know the answer; she felt it deep in her heart. She longed to pull him close to her, to feel him nuzzle his long, slender nose against her curls.

That was home for her now.

Her heart ached differently now. Not for the past and the promise of a reunion with her parents. That was out of her grasp. Too much had changed, and they couldn't move forward while they still held onto the idea of their perfect dentist daughter. That wasn't her. She had cursed people, broken into a bank, impersonated a terrifying witch. She had been an Undesirable for so long. She wanted her new life, and she yearned to explore that with Ron. There was still so much potential in magic, and she knew now there was no way she could leave it all behind and only believe it was evil.

Hermione slid out of bed quickly. Her eyes were gritty with lack of sleep. She needed a shower, but to do so might wake her parents. She changed quickly, feeling cowardly, far from her true Gryffindor self, but she hoped they would eventually forgive her for leaving them this way. She worried if she spent another day here then she may never leave. Although her parents came across as timid, shy but friendly, they had a way of letting their thoughts and beliefs become gospel in a way that their parents impressed on them. That was the impact of family history.

She packed her things into her faithful beaded bag. It was the only magic she would allow herself to do under their roof. Although there was no way they'd be able to detect it, it felt wrong even to entertain the thought of quieting her footsteps or apparating directly out of the house. It would be like proving they were right.

Hermione wrote a quick note to her parents, trying to put into a small number of words just where she was going and why. She knew they would be devastated that they couldn't say goodbye, but it was better this way. She wouldn't be able to leave when she saw their faces. Alongside the note, she left the things they would need to get back to her if they ever decided to. She had to have faith that they would. She had lost confidence that people came back when Ron had walked out of the tent, but he had proved her wrong just like he had time and time again. People came back if they wanted to.

Satisfied she had done all that she could, she slipped her wand out of her pocket and left the house, a new lightness travelling through her body with every step she took away from her parents and her past. The sun was just peeking its head over the horizon, and the sky was tinged with pink. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.

She walked down the street, taking in her surroundings for the last time. Australia was wonderful, and she hoped to come back and visit it eventually on better terms. With a final sigh and the weight of her parents' pressure falling from her shoulders, she turned on the spot and disappeared.


End file.
